


Girls on Film

by okapi



Series: Harpooned 'verse [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Lestrade, Femlock, Fluff, Guide John, Mind Palace, POV Alternating, Sentinel Sherlock Holmes, Sentinel/Guide, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: “Did you just make a Duran Duran joke, Sherlock?”“It’s wasn’t that funny, John.”Femlock. Sentinel/Guide fluff. Songfic [Duran Duran]. 221bs. For Kinktober Day 13 - Bonds (Telepathic/Empathic)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the DW ficlet zone Song title Challenge: Duran Duran. This chapter has "Is There Something I Should Know?" "The Reflex" and "Save a Prayer."

“…or as I like to call them, ‘girls on film.’”

John stopped making tea and turned to stare at Sherlock. Then she burst out laughing, and her mirth flowed along their Sentinel-Guide bond in streams of soap bubbles, floating, dancing on air.

“Did you just make a Duran Duran joke, Sherlock?”

Sherlock huffed. “It’s wasn’t that funny, John.”

“No, it wasn’t. But you even making a Duran Duran joke is just about the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard. Do you like Duran Duran? You’ve never mentioned it. I thought you only went in for classical music, you know, violin solos, etcetera.”

“Music trivia has its place in the Work, John.”

The aloofness of Sherlock’s reply was thoroughly belied, however, by an invisible tendril of affection which unfurled in John’s direction and caressed her like the brush of palm against cheek.

“Oh, right. The Work,” said John, rolling her eyes but silently returning the sweet gesture. “Well, I suppose I’ve only one thing to say.”

Sherlock finally looked up, one eyebrow sharply raised in inquiry.

John turned her head and began to bounce, blasting across their bond.

_PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME NOW!_

_PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME NOW!_

“Would you like some tea?” added John aloud with a grin.

Sherlock groaned.

**_And you wonder why I never mentioned it._ **

_Not a bit._

* * *

“All right. I’m off for a drink with Lestrade.”

“And I have a date with some liver cells.”

John’s shields were up, but Sherlock did not need be a bonded Sentinel to know that the rendezvous her Guide had planned was not a run-of-the-mill pint at a local pub; she only had to observe.

John was wearing a tight black V-necked cami with absolutely nothing, no jumper, no jacket, no shirt, layered on top. John had borrowed, without asking, some of Sherlock’s hair product from the bathroom. John was wearing make-up, eyeliner and mascara and even a bit of lipstick, which were all also Sherlock’s, and also commandeered, most uncharacteristically, without a word. John looked, well, quite sexy, and Sherlock did not attempt to dilute, stifle, or otherwise disguise her appreciation. John, for her part, was positively brimming with excitement about whatever awaited her.

But they said nothing, just stood in the kitchen, staring at each other.

Sherlock’s lips twitched as she studied John, and John, aware that she was being studied, grinned and glared back defiantly, daring Sherlock to ask a question about where she was going and what she was going to be doing.

It was a silent battle of wills, and finally, Sherlock capitulated.

“Have a nice time.”

“Thank you,” replied John with a wink. “You, too, beautiful.”

* * *

An hour later, the mystery was solved.

Sherlock was at the kitchen table. She’d assembled every item she required for the experiment, spread the whole lot about her, but…

But since John had left, she’d hardly given the liver cells a moment’s thought. She was doodling on a note-book page when John’s presence came through, loud and clear.

_Are you ready for a surprise, Sherlock?_

John’s excitement was an electric buzz.

**_Liver cells, John._ **

A stab of nauseating disappointment told Sherlock that her reproof had fallen far short of jest. She quickly sought to remedy the misstep.

**_But, of course, I can take a break._ **

_Really?_

Oh, how could John still be so insecure? But then Sherlock reminded herself that she was the Sentinel and John was the Guide and John’s sensitivity was part of what made her who she was. Sherlock oozed reassurance.

**_Really, John. Surprise me._ **

_Right. Here goes._

_T-T-THE REFLEX! THE REFLEX! THE REFLEX! THE REFLEX-FL-FL-EX!_

Sherlock smiled.

**_Oh, John._ **

_Lestrade found an 80’s club night! We’re packed in here like sardines! It’s fantastic!_

John dropped her shields, and Sherlock was flooded with vicarious sensations: the thump of the music, the heat of the club and John’s body, the closeness of the crowd, the scent of sweet-powder smoke as it hissed overhead.

But mostly, she felt John’s bliss.

* * *

Experience on both sides of the ledger had taught Sherlock that a Guide’s pure, unadulterated joy was more powerful than any chemical drug. Forewarned was not forearmed, however, and Sherlock still wobbled on the stool and was forced to grip the edge of the table to keep from tipping over.

The experiment was abandoned forthwith, and soon Sherlock found herself shuffling ‘round the kitchen, swaying to her own internal radio, and singing softly to herself.

_AND EVERY LITTLE THING THE REFLEX DOES / LEAVES YOU ANSWERED WITH A QUESTION MA-A-ARK.._

By the third song, Sherlock’s decision was made.

**_Thank you, John. You surprised me, which is nearly impossible. It’s been wonderful. I’ve had a lovely time._ **

_You’ve had enough already?_

**_Yes, but I will see you later, I promise._ **

_Are you going to wait up for me?_

**_Something like that._ **

John squealed with delight.

* * *

‘I’ve got to go!’ mouthed Lestrade.

‘Now?!’

She pointed to her watch. ‘I'm on call in an hour!’

John’s jaw dropped, wondering what Scotland Yard would think of the purple mohawk.

‘Okay. Let’s go.’

‘You can stay.’

John shook her head. ‘No! Not alone!’

Lestrade pointed up, and John followed her gesture as the next song began.

_YOU SAW ME STANDING BY THE WALL CORNER OF A MAIN STREET…_

And there was Sherlock.

_SHERLOCK! YOU’RE HERE!_

**_Hello, beautiful._ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duran Duran songs: "Rio" & "Planet Earth"

John barely felt Lestrade’s hand on her shoulder, barely heard the ‘good-bye’ screamed in her ear.

It was so sudden, so strong. Her body trembled. She dropped her shields, wanting Sherlock to feel what she felt, wanting Sherlock to know, not deduce, not conclude, not understand in a theoretical sense, but to know, in her very nerves, the effect that seeing her, perched on a parapet high above the teeming dancefloor, was having on John.

Sherlock looked like a, oh, damn it, like wet dream.

**_Wet dream, John?_ **

_Sorry. Not appropriate, but It was the first thing that came to mind._

**_‘Coming to mind.’ Now there’s a phrase._ **

John felt Sherlock’s words against her skin. They were like fingertips, tickling along a waistband, wanting to dip, to delve, to touch, but waiting, waiting politely, respectfully, for the right moment and the right word.

_Fuck, Sherlock!_

**_That’s another phrase. Oddly enough, my most and least favourite, depending on the context and intonation._ **

_I’m about to swoon._

**_That’s not swooning, John._ **

_Fuck, no, it’s not, but I need you. Are you just going to sit up there like an owl all night?_

**_I am a Sentinel, John. Owlish is my  nature._ **

_Come down. Please._

**_As you wish._ **

And with that, Sherlock dropped off her perch. And fell to earth. Like fucking Batman.

* * *

John couldn’t see Sherlock for the crowd.

_SHERLOCK?!_

**_I’m fine, John._ **

John watched as Sherlock twisted and turned, winding her way through the throng.

_Yeah, you are. You look amazing._

John had never seen the black leather vest with studded lapels before. She had often seen the dark purple bra that was peeking out of Sherlock’s white cami. Just never in public.

_You know that bra is one my favourites._

**_I know. I wanted to dress the part, blend in._ **

_Fat chance of that, gorgeous. If you think I’ve eyes for anyone else in this blessed place, you’re barking._

**_I don’t need to think, John. I can feel you…_ **

_Good._

**_…and the sensation’s quite extraordinary, even second-hand._ **

They stared, drinking each other in, as the song went on.

_AND YOU WANTED TO DANCE SO I ASKED YOU TO DANCE!_

**_The Mister Durans have a point. Would you like to dance, John?_ **

_I’d like to fall into those eyes of yours, those pools of quicksilver, never to surface._

**_Poetry, John?_ **

John shrugged.

_I’d like to…_

**_That can be arranged, too_**.

John hesitated.

_I don’t want to go home yet, Sherlock._

**_I just arrived, John. I have no intention of leaving so soon._ **

_Oh…right here?…but we’ve never…_

**_First time for everything._ **

_Sex on the dance floor?_

**_Call it an experiment in telepathic-empathic bonding._ **

* * *

 Sherlock’s Mind Palace had a bridge and a moat, but it was still a palace, a magnificent structure which was best described as the love child of the Bodleian and Versailles. John’s equivalent contained no edifice whatsoever; the landscape varied, from Afghan desert to English meadow, but it was always open space, unblemished by human construction.

As the music from the club filtered into the space, the surroundings morphed.

_MOVING ON THE FLOOR NOW BABE YOU’RE A BIRD OF PARADISE…_

Thickets of lush green vegetation sprang up, and on them, jewel-toned flowers budded and bloomed. A carpet of green unfurled beneath Sherlock’s feet and led her towards the square where John stood. The square was marked, as always, by a harpoon rammed into the earth.

The mountains in the distance were usually brown or dark red, sometimes dry and craggy, sometimes snow-capped, sometimes partially-obscured by moorish fog.

Now they were dark, black and grey, with steep slopes and craters, like a shadowy planet. It was a contrast to the jungle-like environs through which Sherlock was passing.

_…LIKE A BIRTHDAY OR A PRETTY VIEW…_

John was waiting.

_Is this going to work, Sherlock?_

**_I honestly don’t know._ **

_But we won’t get tossed out of the club for indecency?_

**_No, in the world without, we’re just dancing like everyone else, thoroughly boring._ **

* * *

 

**_I’ve been wanting to do this since you stepped out of the bathroom._ **

As Sherlock’s hands divested John of her clothing, Sherlock’s mouth was occupied kissing and licking every inch of exposed skin.

_I liked teasing you._

**_I know._ **

Once naked, John sank to the ground and laid back on the grass. Sherlock followed, covering John’s body with her own.

_We’re just dancing, Sherlock?_

**_Just dancing._ **

_It feels like a lot more._

**_Good._ **

Sherlock was devouring John’s breasts.

**_If someone in the club were very observant, they might notice your elevated heart rate, respiration rate, flushed colour, and…_ **

Sherlock pulled off John’s nipple with a wet pop.

**_…pebbling of areole through the top, but the only person likely to notice the changes is the one responsible for them._ **

_Oh, God, Sherlock!_

John’s legs flopped open in invitation, and as they did, a host of pink flowers spread their petals in similar fashion. Sherlock was struck forcibly by the scent of John’s arousal.

**_Blooming for me, John?_ **

_You like bees, don’t you?_

_**Hmm.** _

_Why don’t you go looking for nectar?_

**_I thought you’d never ask._ **

Sherlock dipped her head.

Their fingers were clasped tightly as John’s body began to quiver.

_Fuck, Sherlock! Fuck, fuck, fuck. I feel so exposed, but I can’t hold it back._

_I’ve got you, John. Don’t hold back._

* * *

_SHERLOCK!_

For fear of confusing John and somehow derailing her pleasure, Sherlock didn’t dare lift her head or alter her ministrations, but out of the corner of her eye, in the sliver of horizon visible over John’s hip, she spied the mountains.

And realised that they weren’t mountains, they were volcanos.

_What’s that, Sherlock?_

**_Falling ash._ **

_ASH?!_

**_You’re erupting, John._ **

_Bloody hell I am. There’s another. Fuck, it’s good, Sherlock, your eating me out. Your tongue inside me. Don’t stop, please. There’s another little one. It’s, like, all of you is inside me, kissing along every nerve I’ve got, everywhere at once._

**_I’ve no intention of stopping, John, but I do have a question._ **

_Yeah?_

**_What are the chances there’ll be lava flows?_ **

John laughed, and the ground beneath them shook.

_We’ll be safe._

* * *

 

_I’m good, Sherlock. I’m ready to surface. Are you certain I’m still upright?_

**_Absolutely certain._ **

_Would like me to return the favour?_

**_Would it be prudish if I said I preferred the privacy of our domicile?_ **

_Not all. A couple more songs then head home?_

**_Yes._ **

Sherlock finally lifted her head and saw the landscape had changed once more.

Everything—well, everything but the square of green grass directly beneath them and the harpoon—was smothered bubbling lava.

_THIS IS PLANET EARTH!_

**_I like Planet John better._ **


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Duran Duran songs referenced are: "Blue Moon on Monday," "Wild Boys," and "Girls on Film." If anyone's curious, this [Sims figure](http://practicefortheheart.tumblr.com/post/145820140369/and-here-is-sherlock-3-joan-x) by Practice of the Heart was the inspiration for club!Sherlock.
> 
> Also written for my Ladies Bingo centre square (Wild Card: Genderswap).

John couldn’t believe it. This never happened: Sherlock asleep, well, falling asleep, and she, John, awake.

John watched the rising and falling of Sherlock’s chest and evening of her breath and listened to the gradual muting and melting of Sherlock’s thoughts into a slumber-muddle.

John supposed the Mind Palace sex at the club had exhausted Sherlock more than she’d let on. After all, she’d taken the brunt of it, keeping both of their bodies upright and decent while entering John’s head space and pleasuring her.

By contrast, the experience had left John feeling as if she could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Super Guide.

One corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched.

Christ, John loved her.

And she hadn’t even returned the favour as promised; by the time they’d reached Baker Street, Sherlock was already stifling yawns. They’d both got ready for bed without a word more said about it.

The same bed, of course. John wanted to be near Sherlock as much as Sherlock wanted her near.

The need was palpable and mutual.

And, Christ, she was so beautiful. John could easily watch Sherlock all night and was half prepared to do so when Sherlock reached a hand back. Her fingers twined in John’s and she pulled John’s arm towards her. John rolled, spooning Sherlock, her chest to Sherlock’s back.

* * *

Sherlock brought John’s hand to her temple and mumbled,

“Come to mind, John.”

“Now? Sherlock, you are tired. Are you certain you don’t want to sleep? In the morning when you’re rested…”

Sherlock snorted. She turned her head and looked at John through half-lidded eyes and said gruffly,

“I don’t ask for things I don’t want, John.”

“Very well.”

John quickly rolled away, stripped off her bra and pants, and rolled back, curling her nude form ‘round Sherlock.

Sherlock grunted. “Stupid clothing.”

John toyed with the strap of Sherlock’s nightgown. “Sherlock?”

“John, please. Your skin, my skin.”

John pressed three kisses down the length of Sherlock’s neck as she eased the strap down, then off Sherlock’s arm. Then she began kissing Sherlock’s shoulder, and as the nightgown was drawn lower and Sherlock’s breasts became exposed, John could not stop kissing—or ogling.

“God, Sherlock,” groaned John, giving the nape of Sherlock’s neck a gentle nip. Then John focused on getting the nightgown completely off.

But then there were the knickers.

Dark pink satin.

“Fuck!”

“It’s okay, John.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s not bloody tennis! And the overwhelming evidence of your need, your desire, is quite the aphrodisiac.”

Licking and biting Sherlock’s neck, John mounted her, rutting hard against Sherlock’s hip until she came.

“Oh, gorgeous. Oh, my sweet, sweet beloved.”

* * *

“Now,” said Sherlock. “Come to mind.”

As always when she entered Sherlock’s Mind Palace, John stood on the far side of the bridge, but this time she was naked save for a sheet drawn ‘round her.

She hurriedly padded ‘cross the bridge and up the steps, heading straight for her wing, the wing of Sherlock’s Mind Palace that hosted all she knew of John. Amongst the shelves and shelves of information, there was an aubergine curtain which concealed a large, stately castle door and through which was Sherlock’s libido.

John found Sherlock sprawled on an enormous canopied bed, nude, with legs spread, waiting.

Now, John.

John let the sheet slide to the floor as she scrambled onto the bed. Like an eager puppy, she covered Sherlock with sloppy kisses and indiscriminate licks and unbridled excitement.

Sherlock enveloped John in her arms and held her still, then kissed her, long and hard.

John trailed kisses down Sherlock’s neck, along her cleavage, over her belly to her mons. Then she began nuzzling and licking and biting Sherlock’s inner thighs, first, left, then right, from knee to crease.

_You want me here?_

_For now._

Suddenly, there was music, which started out soft, but grew louder.

_NEW MOON ON MONDAY AND A FIRE DANCE THROUGH THE NIGHT!_

John pressed a smile to Sherlock’s skin _._

**_Behold!_ **

* * *

A hand was under John’s chin, lifting it.

John pushed up onto her knees and looked towards the ceiling. The bed was no longer canopied and there was now a skylight and a bright moon shining down on them.

John smiled at the moon. She closed her eyes and, for a moment, allowed the silvery light to bless and bathe her.

Then she went back to work.

 _I STAYED THE COLD DAY WITH A LONELY SATELLITE_.

John laced the fingers of one hand in Sherlock’s and held her open with the other and brought her own mouth to Sherlock’s cunt.

**_Fuck, John!_ **

_All night, Sherlock._

Sherlock whimpered.

* * *

_WILD BOYS ALWAYS SHINE!_

**_John!_ **

_Mmmph?_

Sherlock ceased her savage grinding.

**_I’m smothering you, aren’t I?_ **

Their positions were reversed, and John could see nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing, taste nothing, but Sherlock’s sex.

_Not really. I like it when you ride me and the song, well, it doesn’t help, does it?_

**_No. One more and then I’m good, John._ **

_Songs or orgasms?_

Sherlock laughed.

**_I was thinking of the latter, but, in fact, both._ **

_You can take as many or as few as you want, Sherlock, of either._

Sherlock reached down and wiped John’s chin with her hand.

**_I love you, John._ **

_I love you, too. Now, come on, finish strong. The Mister Durans would want it that way._

**_John, if you don’t mind…your fingers, too._ **

_In here or on the bed?_

**_Both._ **

* * *

**_JOHN!_ **

There was a loud crack that sounded like something large breaking.

Sherlock slid off John, crumpling.

John wiped her face on the bedding.

_What’s going on, Sherlock?_

John laid herself flat beside Sherlock and put a gentle hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

_Talk to me, love. Are you all right?_

Sherlock nodded.

**_I don’t have volcanos, John. Or shifting seismic plates._ **

_What do you have, beautiful?_

Just then the door burst, and water came rushing in.

_Oh, Christ, a flood! Sherlock, should I be worried?_

**_It won’t hurt you, John._ **

John sat on her knees and watched as the room filled. Then the bed lifted from the ground and floated like a raft out the door, following the current, towards the rear of Sherlock’s Mind Palace.

_Holy shit, Sherlock. This brings new meaning to the phrase ‘just transport.’_

Doors opened.

And they were on London Bridge.

Sherlock stirred and, to John’s relief, seem to come back to herself. She took John by the hand and led her off the bed. John heard a clicking, then a voice.

_SEE THEM WALKING HAND IN HAND ACROSS THE BRIDGE AT MIDNIGHT!_

_Oh, Sherlock! This is one of my favourites._

**_Mine, too. Let’s dance, beautiful._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
